


starry nights and a light sky

by theriveroflight



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Canon Compliant, Demiromantic Aurore Beauréal, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Femslash February, Genderfluid Marc Anciel, Medium Burn, Minor Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, enemies is a strong word but nonetheless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theriveroflight/pseuds/theriveroflight
Summary: Aurore has always wanted to be a meteorologist. So, when the competition comes, she's practically a shoo-in in her mind - but then Mireille comes along, and everything turns around.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Aurore Beauréal, Aurore Beauréal & Original Characters, Aurore Beauréal/Mireille Caquet, Marc Anciel & Aurore Beauréal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	starry nights and a light sky

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to publish this in January, for ML Rarepair Month. I'm lucky I made it for Femslash February, at least. Come join me in Auroreille hell, where we have little to no characterization but a super compelling rivals to friends background arc. If it were up to me, the burn would be slower, but for max canon compliance they had to be friends earlier.
> 
> Content warnings: homophobia, mentions of transphobia

Aurore doesn’t know who Mireille is at first — she first sees her face as a semifinalist in the competition to be the weather forecaster, and when she encounters Mireille on that first day of school, she’s shocked to see that yes, they do in fact go to the same school.

What are the odds, of all the girls in Paris, _they_ would be the two in the same class? Oh, she knows Mireille’s charm, her sweet girl-next-door kind of thing that people like for whatever reason.

Some people would call her a tryhard, dressing in that dress with clouds. But her name is literally _Aurore Beaureal,_ there is _no one_ more fitting to be a TV meteorologist than her.

And she’s good at science, too. She’s got the skills to back herself up, really.

But it’s up to the audience, not to the station. Because if it were up to the station one of the bigger nerds would be picked — oh, she might be smart, but she knows better to show that visibly. She plays up the bombshell blonde persona, and underneath the hood she’s got brains enough to know what she’ll be talking about on air. Maybe not enough to go toe-to-toe with the smartest of them, but _enough_ for what she plans on doing, at least.

And honestly? She’s fine if they think she’s an airhead or a mean girl. Because everyone who really knows her does know better.

She and Mireille are the ones chosen by the people in the finals.

Aurore wants this more than anything, but she’ll have to fight for it, it seems. And she’ll get there, whatever it takes.

It’s not that she particularly wants to be famous, but she _has_ always wanted to be a meteorologist — it’s in the name, after all, and she grew up fascinated by the weather around her, the climate changes, the science of the atmosphere. She’s learned more as she grows up, but she’s always been fascinated by the sky, and there is _no one_ (not even Mireille Caquet) more fit to be a _weather_ host.

But people like the girl-next-door more than the “airhead” blonde, and so the votes turn out for Mireille. Votes turn out _so_ hard for Mireille that it seems rigged, and in the midst of her anger she can’t remember to be rational.

And when Hawk Moth offers her the power to make the weather however she wants, she accepts. She can’t resist, she can’t fight the siren song. She just doesn’t know _how_ to, this is all so new.

Giving in is so, so easy. But as the darkness consumes her, she takes a fraction of a moment to regret.

After all, she’ll have to end Mireille’s reign as the face of Parisian meteorology somehow, and it would be a shame for someone so young to have to die so soon. Or, perhaps defamation alone would work…?

* * *

“What…?” She comes back kneeling on a roof, and she sees Ladybug and Chat Noir and a blue sky above her, and the last thing she remembers is saying ‘Yes, Hawk Moth,’ and the darkness consuming her.

“You were akumatized. Don’t worry, it isn’t your fault.”

Ladybug’s Miraculous beeps once. She looks around.

“I can…walk,” Aurore says, feeling awkward. “It’s just downstairs.”

“You sure you don’t need an escort?” Chat Noir asks. “Because I have a little more time than milady here.”

She stands up. Her legs feel a little shaky, but she grabs her umbrella and feels a little better.

The stairs are the slightest bit risky, as it is, with her legs shaky. But she manages to make it back down, and she’s hanging her head in shame.

“Aurore, what was that?” Alec demands. “You can’t just—”

“He preyed on Aurore on _purpose._ It isn’t her fault that she was picked out of the hundreds of negative emotions throughout the city.”

She blinks in surprise. Why is Mireille standing up for her competitor? She knows that she wouldn’t even consider it if their positions were reversed.

Perhaps the nice girl-next-door personality isn’t just an act. She wouldn’t understand why anyone would choose to be their most genuine; it’s still a possibility. Aurore’s perhaps more cynical than most on the subject of fame, and perhaps she understands somewhat why Mireille would choose that. After all, people want someone nice, someone _friendly._ Someone the people think they can relate to, someone they can have a nice conversation with.

Aurore’s greatest talent, she thinks, lies in knowing people. But she still doesn’t understand Mireille.

And in the end the executives choose to put them together, both of them “tying” for first.

She shakes Mireille’s hand, understanding that it’s just business, and they’ll have to be friendly on camera (at least). Aurore puts on a persona enough where it’ll be easy to pretend that she likes Mireille. She’s had plenty of practice with pretending to like people.

Their first broadcast as a pair goes well, and Mireille seems to _genuinely_ like her. At any rate, school — they’re both there, too, in the same class. She’s still _angry,_ but she finds that anger starting to evaporate a little bit, because in the end she still got the job, the work experience she wanted for her future. Even this form of objectification — there’s no science involved in their jobs, and they’re just there to read into a camera and look pretty.

It frustrates her to no end. And it’s easy to channel that into hating Mireille, too. She complains to her diary about work, about having to work with Mireille, about how she’s just so _nice_ and Aurore just doesn’t get it. Why should she deserve kindness? Why should Mireille give her kindness? After all, Aurore tried to _harm_ her when she was akumatized. She doesn’t deserve Mireille’s kindness, but it is given to her anyway.

And she finds small things to hate about Mireille — the way she always takes over group projects as though she deserves to be leader, coffee drinking (Aurore has always had a preference for tea), her fashion sense… 

The small things give her something to cling to, something to point to when they ask her why she carries such vitriol towards Mireille.

* * *

It’s been…huh, it’s already been over a month since the competition ended. As she expected, there are some negative comments about them both winning being unfair, but one of the nicer producers even _confessed_ that it was rigged.

Unrelated, but Alec Cataldi is not a good person.

Aurore doesn’t talk to Mireille about it — why should she, Mireille is the one who the vote was rigged in favor for, after all, and that would just be more of a loss; to know that Mireille wouldn’t have won if the vote wasn’t haplessly rigged, well, if it had been Aurore she would be let down by that.

Then again, Mireille is different from Aurore in a lot of ways. Much kinder, much more willing to forgive.

Aurore doesn’t _understand_ it, but she does understand that there is some worth in kindness, even if it is merely “you get what you give.”

If that makes her selfish, so be it. She knows herself better than anyone else, and if they all don’t _want_ to know then…well, she’s deeper than they know. Deeper than they’ll ever guess.

* * *

Sometimes people who don’t really know them say, “Oh, what a coincidence that you two go to the same school! That must be part of why you’re such good friends on air, OMG.”

Well, not in those exact words, but something close to them. She doesn’t pay them too much mind. Mireille always seems to duck away, embarrassed somehow. They’re not really friends once they get off-camera, so it doesn’t bother Aurore. It’s really just another compliment to their acting, that so many people believe that they really _are_ friends.

Everyone who actually knows them knows better — the people in their class know that they’re not nearly as friendly as they seem on TV. They typically don’t work together unless assigned, they don’t sit next to each other in class, they don’t really do…anything together.

Aurore is closer with some of the other members of her class, but she doesn’t have many close friends anymore since her best friend went to a different school this year.

She sits next to a girl named Emma. Assigned seats, because Mme Mendelieve would never be so kind as to let them choose their own seats. She’s heard of the teacher’s strictness from the older students, ones who have moved onto lycee now. But in the end, they all passed, so she can too.

When she’s not being stereotyped for her hair, she’s being called competitive, and _that_ she doesn’t mind quite as much. 

Her father approves. He tells her to reach high, to do as much as she can and work as hard as she can. Aurore interprets that as an invitation. Competition suits her, after all, and she keeps winning — so why would she ever consider stopping?

* * *

It’s a little frustrating that Mireille keeps trying to befriend her off-set after they’ve told the city the morning weather. They have an unspoken arrangement already, it would be beneficial for them if they _kept_ their relationship professional.

So she pushes Mireille away. She really doesn’t _need_ Mireille’s friendship. She doesn’t need Mireille to take _pity_ on her, and she doesn’t need this job to become overcomplicated.

But the pushing away impacts their on-camera relationship, even if Aurore’s keeping up the same acting she’s always been. A caricature of herself, really, is who the people voted for this position.

But the people are getting what they want, so she steels herself for the inevitable lecture.

* * *

“Aurore, Mireille, I never thought you two could be _any_ further apart, but your performance today is indicative of a larger problem — you weren’t hired to be _actresses,_ you were hired to be _weather reporters._ Who are supposed to be friends as a sign of _alignment_ and as _models_ of how competitors can be friends!”

“There is not a _single_ person,” Aurore answers, “that I am completely genuine with. I wouldn’t be such especially for the camera.”

“You’re an actress, I’m not,” Mireille says, “and I really do want to be friends with you. But you treat _everything_ like a competition, and a tie is just as bad as a loss in your book!”

“Because it _is,”_ Aurore answers, and she can feel the argument building but she doesn’t really…want it. “It’s always a contest. If you fall behind, you don’t make it in life. There’s no other way of making it.”

“But there _is_ a better way. Can’t you see that this is hurting us?” Mireille retorts, and she pounds not angry but pleading and Aurore almost thinks that this is worse than angry. She deserves anger, she deserves to be yelled at — sadness just makes her feel guilty.

She feels at a loss for the next move, stumbling through her head for a strategy (her father used to be a spy, she knows all about espionage and strategy and how to deal with _people)._ But in her panic, nothing comes to her head.

“I’ll let you two work it out,” the producer comments, and acquiesces.

“How is this _hurting_ anyone?” she asks. “I think it’s actually better, be figure out cause if there’s nothing there there’s nothing that can fall apart.”

“But it _has_ fallen apart already,” Mireille insists. “And there was nothing, according to you at least. We need to talk about it.”

“What is there to talk about? We’re not friends. We’re coworkers, and we’re friendly for the sake of work but don’t actually need to have a connection.” She can feel herself growing more desperate — she’s fighting a losing battle, after all, and she knows it. But it’s more honorable to fight hard and be defeated than to surrender.

“Really.”

“That’s not evidence,” Aurore says. “You need an actual argument as to how being actual friends would be more beneficial than detrimental.”

“Alright. If you want a debate, then you’ll have one.” Mireille narrows her eyes. “After all, that’s what you make everything.”

Aurore doesn’t rise to the dig.

“Developing a friendship could potentially destroy our professional one, if we ever have a serious disagreement. With this attachment to each other, we would be more vulnerable to potential arguments and that will affect our performance on camera.”

“Developing a friendship could also _improve_ our status on-camera, because it would be more genuine than whatever your acting can bring. You’re _good,_ but fabricated isn’t the same as real. And yes, there is always a risk of some kind of fallout affecting our relationship, but as evidenced by our discussion right now, it’ll happen whether or not we’re friends. I don’t _get_ why you’re so closed off, you always seem so lonely but you haven’t let anyone in. I don’t know why you keep insisting on your loneliness — what does it get you? How do you benefit from being alone? Wouldn’t it be better to be more friendly?”

“I didn’t get where I am by being _friendly,”_ Aurore answers. “Approachable? Sure. But I’m not the friendly, nice one — that isn’t my role, that’s _yours.”_

Mireille raises her eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“I was under the impression that our dynamic is more good cop/bad cop.” It feels almost embarrassing to admit it, now that she says something about it.

“The cops are still friends by the end of that though, right? You’re not _disproving_ my argument.”

“Okay, here’s something,” Aurore is usually patient, but right now she’s at the end of her rope, “I don’t _want_ to be your friend. I never have.” It’s overly cruel, but mostly accurate. (Or is it?)

“Why won’t you give it a chance?”

“You’re my rival.” She hasn’t thought the words since the competition ended, but it is true. “Nothing more, and nothing less. I have never considered you a friend to me, no matter how hard you have tried — the vote was _rigged,_ you know.” She claps her hands over her mouth, because she hadn’t meant to say it.

“Who do you think told them to tell you?” Mireille answers, and Aurore honestly doesn’t know what to make of that. “I knew. I’ve known since it happened. My parents were the one who paid them off to rig the votes.”

“I…” Aurore edges out of the room, towards the door. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Aurore, wait,” Mireille says. “Are we friends, or no?”

“...I’ll get back to you on that.” Aurore leaves, and she’s left with a _mess_ inside her that she needs to untangle.

* * *

She lays in bed that night, and she’s _still_ replaying that conversation.

Okay. What does she know?

  * Mireille wants to be friends with her.
    * Why? Because they’re working together? Is that the only reason?
  * Mireille knew the vote was rigged all along.
    * It’s obvious why she didn’t tell Aurore directly — Mireille probably thought she would take it badly, which is a very reasonable assumption to make considering, well, everything in her response to Mireille.
    * But really, _would_ Mireille have even won if the vote wasn’t rigged?
  * Aurore keeps treating Mireille as a rival.
    * The competition is over — why is she still doing this?



And, well, the conclusion is obvious — she should give being Mireille’s friend a shot. Aurore isn’t sure why some parts of her recoil at the idea. Mireille isn’t…so bad, after all. The flaws she’s found are nitpicky, and _really_ Aurore is putting up a fight for no reason. She’s understood that her reasons are weak, but she…hadn’t wanted to consider anything else. She was comfortable in her ignorance.

Well, she can’t pretend anymore. She _is_ an actress, but she’s not on-screen — this is reality. This is real life, and she can’t lie to everyone at once. Least of all herself.

So she chooses honesty. And honesty is admitting that having a friend would be nice, really. She gives off the impression of distance to others, she thinks. She plays up the blonde stereotype and it mostly serves to keep people away from her even when they would admire her if she weren’t so brusque.

She tries not to be actively mean. She’s not Chloe, after all. She might play up that kind of stereotype to give off the impression of distance, but there’s a difference between being mean and just being distant. Bluntness is not a form of bullying, and they all know she’s a different breed despite their similarities.

There really isn’t anything stopping her, is there? The only thing stopping her is herself, and if she takes down the barriers then there’s nothing stopping her.

* * *

The next morning, when she arrives at the station for styling before she goes on-air, the producer from yesterday comes up as they do her makeup.

“You worked out your stuff, right? I sure hope you did, because we wouldn’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

Aurore takes a deep breath and reaches for the part of her that she displays on social media, the part of her that goes on air. “Everything’s fine. There won’t be any issues, I swear.”

“I trust you.” They hand Aurore the script for today and walk away. She looks over the script as they style her hair, making sure that her customary pigtails are all in order, that not a single hair is out of place. It’s the usual stuff, really, just different numbers from the day before. She wishes she could have access to where the _actual_ scientists do their work, but alas, she and Mireille are not true meteorologists.

Not yet, at least.

They stand in front of the greenscreen, viewing the screen that shows what the greenscreen has so they can point to the appropriate places in France.

“Good morning, France!” they say in unison, and it feels bright and somewhat happy.

* * *

They chat casually while they remove makeup and the like in the rush to prepare for school — they typically carpool because they’re in the same class, more a matter of sense than anything else. But the good mood seems to carry throughout the car ride, and even with her earbuds in…well, she almost forgets about the science test until she stops looking out the window and looks at Mireille, who’s studying.

Science has always been her best subject, so she’ll ace the quiz. She’s been doing well in class, in spite of Emma’s incompetence, so it should be a piece of cake.

And then she spots something.

“That’s wrong, actually,” Aurore says, removing an earbud and indicating the calculation. “You forgot to convert it, the measurements aren’t coherent.”

“You’re right,” Mireille responds, sounding almost incredulous. “Thank you.”

“Why are you so _surprised?”_ Aurore asks.

“I mean…I don’t know how to say this. Um, I suspected there was something more, but you’re a lot smarter than you seem.”

“That’s on purpose,” Aurore answers.

“Why do you hide?” Mireille tilts her head.

“Why shouldn’t I hide?” she rebuts, hoping this won’t turn into an argument just like the previous time they actually spoke to each other. “I don’t need them to know I’m good at science. I didn’t get this far by being smart — I got this far with charisma.”

“Girls, we’re here,” Mireille’s mom announces.

Aurore gets out of the car, slinging her bag as she steps onto the curb.

* * *

The quiz goes fine, for whatever that’s worth. She thinks she might have gotten number five wrong, but she’ll still get a fairly good score without it.

Emma cries to Aurore that she isn’t very good at science, and she knows Mme Mendelieve is planning on moving seats based on their scores on this, so she’ll be stuck in the _front,_ with someone who can’t help her as much as Aurore has. Aurore knows Emma has certainly improved since they started together — she started out getting less than half, and now she isn’t failing every assessment she takes.

Three cheers for improvement, Aurore supposes? She doesn’t _enjoy_ having to carry her partner, and it’ll be nice to be able to be more independent, but maybe it’ll work out differently and she’ll stay with Emma because she knows the teacher paired them first in the hopes that Aurore would help her improve. It worked, so she guesses that Mendelieve was right.

She and Mireille have to do the evening weather today, because the usual TV meteorologist is out, and they of _course_ can’t be separated.

So it’s straight from school to the station, and even that’s cutting it close, but it isn’t like the officials would let them be dismissed early.

“How’d you do?” Mireille asks. They’ve had other events besides the quiz, but…well, everyone’s been talking about it. Even the kids in Mme Bustier’s homeroom — they have the Quiz, too. Their college runs on a system that she knows won’t be much like lycee, but they have French and literature and history with one teacher and math/science with the other.

“I’m fairly certain I did well. Perhaps not a _perfect_ score, but I don’t need perfection — I just need to be close.” Aurore knows how that sounds, probably, but she’s always been self-aware if nothing else.

“That’s good.” Mireille tilts her head. “I think I did well, too.”

They arrive at the studio, and have to jump right back into getting ready to deliver the evening weather. She doesn’t have the script down quite as well for evening — she always watches the evening broadcast, just to prepare for these kinds of circumstances, but there’s a difference between reciting along with the usual meteorologist and being up there on her own.

Well, she won’t be alone — and even if she _does_ have it all memorized Mireille is still there with her.

The script set out in front of her tells her the numbers and words she has to say, and she reads it over briefly before striding out towards the screen.

“Okay, you’re on in three minutes!”

She and Mireille rehearse together — it’s their first time doing this, the evening weather. And they have to stick around for awhile _,_ too, because they’re here until seven when the other shows start because it’s all news. And they’re on for a long segment every half hour and shorter segments midway between.

She understands why they’re not usually asked to do this. Morning — well, they’re only expected to be there for the last hour of news, from 6-7 AM. So it isn’t quite as strenuous for them normally.

So when she gets home, she collapses straight away.

* * *

The next morning, she gets to class to find that she no longer has to sit in the front, but she’s not in the very back where she’d like to be in order to tune out everything.

She’s put next to a nice person she’s noticed around — Marc.

“Sometimes the pronouns I use for myself switch,” he says, “same as my gender.”

Okay…she doesn’t get it, but sure. She can roll with that.

“So what’s today’s?”

“I’ve been male for the past week.” He shrugs. “Sometimes it changes constantly over a few days, sometimes it stays the same for a while. I don’t control the gender, it controls me.”

Aurore laughs at that, and he smiles probably because of that.

“That’s fine. Just let me know, and I will do my best not to use the wrong one.”

“Of course,” he responds, and sits back on his chair. “I’m not bad at science, by the way. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Aurore sighs with relief. “No offense to my old partner, but _thank goodness._ She improved a lot, but it’ll be good to be able to focus on my own work.”

“Same.”

Mme Mendelieve passes back their quizzes. She got question five wrong, just as she suspected, but the rest were all right.

Marc, it seems, got a 100. “Good job,” she says. “What was number five supposed to be?”

They compare responses and find where exactly Aurore went wrong. It’s nice.

Mireille’s also sitting across the aisle from her. That’s fine. They’re trying to be friends, after all, it should be fine.

* * *

Well, they’ve certainly become a lot more amicable off-camera. Their relationship looks roughly the same on-camera, but it’s a little more familiar when they’re in the studio and the classroom. 

“Hey, do you want to come over for lunch?” Mireille asks.

They might be hanging out more, but neither have seen the inside of the other’s house.

“Sure,” Aurore answers.

What could it hurt to see Mireille’s house? To eat lunch together? If anything, it would strengthen their friendship, and that’s a good thing.

So they take the bus from school there, and they eat their respective lunches. Aurore brings one normally and goes to the courtyard or something to eat. She knows Mireille goes home.

Marc eats with her typically nowadays. She’s been wearing a lot of skirts lately — it looks nice on her, and Aurore’s glad Marc feels confident enough in her identity to wear them to school.

Lunch with Mireille is nice, if mostly silent. No one else is in the house at the moment, so they’re alone, and neither of them really want to talk at the moment. Aurore thinks that ability to be comfortable in silence actually says more about their friendship than if they were chattering all the time. After all, she doesn’t know how much they have in common. She doesn’t think it’s much.

Just the weather, and Mireille cheated to get there. Or something. And then she recalls their argument — why would Mireille have told her that it was rigged if she was the one responsible?

The only conclusion she can draw is that Mireille wasn’t really responsible for the rigging — it was against her will.

It could just be the fact that she’s overly competitive, but if the vote were to be rigged she wouldn’t _resist_ someone trying to win the competition for her.

Not that they have enough pull anyways. She and her father support each other. Aurore will do _anything_ to avoid moving away from their arrondissement, but hard times fall upon everyone, and she knows that she’ll work her hardest, as much as she can, to let them stay.

“Why was it rigged if you didn’t want it to be?” Aurore asks. Because she needs to figure out the mystery. There’s something there. There’s something important behind it all.

“I didn’t know. Not until after voting had already started. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it to happen. I wanted a fair competition.” Mireille bites her lip. “And I know you wouldn’t do the same. I would never have known, if our positions were flipped. And I would have accepted the loss, too.”

“I don’t appreciate being taken for something I am not,” Aurore retorts, but there’s no true anger behind it. “Everyone gets jealous.” And Aurore isn’t sure what she would do if their positions had been reversed. “And you never know, because that didn’t happen, and we have to live with our lives as they are now.”

“What do you mean?” Mireille asks. “I’ve come to know you better than I ever thought I would, and you’re still an enigma to me. I still don’t understand why you choose to hide. Why you treat everything as a competition. Why you are who you are. And I didn’t mean to imply that I was blaming you for getting akumatized. You have a right to your emotions.”

Aurore doesn’t know herself, sometimes. And it’s true that she never really had to accept it, because she started with her anger and never had to get over it.

“I…I guess I can be a little quick to snap sometimes.” Aurore shrugs. “It’s always been important to me. Science. The weather. I grew up dreaming about being on TV, and then I learned that there were people behind the scenes and dreamed about being _them_ instead. I was devastated when I learned that it was all scripted, that I couldn’t use everything in my arsenal. But you…I get the idea that you’re not really happy with where you are, Mireille. Your parents rigged the vote — they made you do this, didn’t you?”

Mireille fidgets in her seat. “It’s complicated,” she answers. “The thing is, as much as I don’t know about you, I don’t know much about myself either.”

“You’re more important,” Aurore says. “Knowing yourself is more important than anyone else. I know who I am. You should figure out who you are.”

“It’s…other people are easier. I’m complicated.”

“We all are.” Aurore smiles. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Mireille looks at the clock. “We have to get going.”

Well, Aurore supposes, that’s an end to that conversation. The words Mireille said today only serve to add to her interpretation of the other’s actions. Mireille has never cared about it the way Aurore did. She’s willing to guess that Mireille doesn’t care if she gets fired because she’s never truly cared about the position in the first place.

It’s another insight that Aurore doesn’t know what to do with. She has all this knowledge. What is she supposed to do?

She could tell someone. She could tell them all, she could stand by and let Mireille be tossed out from the studio due to a lack of passion, despite the corruption. Aurore could take the stage like she wanted to when the competition was first announced, and she wouldn’t have to share.

But, when she thinks about that, it feels _lonely._ She and Mireille still aren’t that close, but against all odds she feels irrationally…against that concept. She doesn’t want to stand in front of the camera by herself. She doesn’t want to feel that guilt, to know that she is standing alone not because she _deserved_ to but because she used someone’s trust against them.

Mireille deserves better than that.

They arrive back at the school, and she sits back down. They’re the last to get back, but when she slides into the seat Marc shows her his watch. They’re not late.

* * *

A few weeks pass without any significant revelations. The air starts to get colder. She puts on leggings under her dress, and changes her heels to heeled boots. The change reflects with other students, too. Marc switches presentation a few times and tells her the new pronouns. They all start bundling up a little more.

There are more akumas, too, and their acceptance is going up. People have started to adjust, to realise that it will all be okay eventually. That Ladybug will save them. That it is _okay_ to feel.

They learn to place their blame in the right place, too, and she feels more forgiven as their attitudes shift than she did the day after the attack, when they all observed, when they all looked at her like a stranger.

Ostracization feels worse than anything.

(And yet Mireille kept reaching out to her anyway. Kept _trying_ to be her friend. That means something.)

But then she and Mireille get the chance to have a conversation to themselves.

* * *

“It’s…a lot harder than I thought it would be.” Mireille leans back against her chair. “Figuring myself out, that is.”

“I figured you were talking about that,” Aurore responds. 

“It’s just…I feel like everything I’ve done has been because of my parents. Without them making me do things, I don’t know what I want.”

“So what,” Aurore demands, “did they want you to be my friend? You said you’ve never decided for yourself what you want to do. Did they _make you befriend me?_ So that if it was revealed that you weren’t passionate about this, that you didn’t want this, that you didn’t _deserve_ your place — I wouldn’t tell?”

“What?”

She goes towards the door. “I will see you in class. Don’t…” What was she going to say? “I need some time.”

Was it all real?

Aurore knows better than _anyone_ about putting on a show, presenting something for the world to see. But she was always under the impression that Mireille wasn’t like her. Mireille isn’t (wasn’t?) an actress like her. They’re not the same.

But maybe they’re more similar than Aurore first thought. 

* * *

“What happened?” Marc asks, because she’s coming into class early.

“I guess I was wrong,” Aurore answers. “About Mireille.”

“What happened? I’ve known her for a while,” Marc responds.

“She said that she was having trouble finding out what she wants and who she is because her parents have forced her to do _everything_ she’s done.” Aurore scoffs. “Including befriending me, I presume.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Marc says, “but I have a feeling you don’t want to hear that. Do you want to hear about the story I’m working on?”

Aurore, thankful for the out, nods. “I’d love to hear about it.”

Recently, Marc’s been rather obsessed with writing stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir. She thinks it’s a little weird, because they’re…real people, but who is she to judge Marc?

And it gives her a chance to not…well, it gives her a chance to stop thinking about Mireille, if only for a bit, and the sinking feeling of betrayal coursing through her.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” her father asks when she comes breezing through the door.

“I—it’s nothing, Dad,” she answers, shocked that he asked in the first place. He hasn’t cared about what she’s done in a long time. Why should he care now? “Why are you home?”

“I had to leave work early. The place experienced some issues.”

Aurore frowns. “Okay. I hope everything works out.” She walks to her room to start on her homework, but she can’t really focus on it. It’s a struggle when she can’t stop thinking about what happened, about Mireille not _truly_ wanting to be friends with her. After all, if every decision Mireille has made was at the behest of her parents, then that means Aurore was on that list, because snaring Aurore was a _decision._ Mireille had to consciously choose her, even during the period where they all kept their distance, terrified that she would suddenly transform into Stormy Weather again.

Aurore thinks it would be touching if it weren’t _forced._

Mireille is far better an actor than Aurore. After all, Mireille could fake so much. And if everything was fake all along…

It doesn’t matter. Aurore has to keep going. Get more friends. Better friends, ones that aren’t actors or celebrities like her and Mireille.

Marc is a good start on that. Emma is a good friend to have, too.

* * *

The holidays are always a site of bad memories. They don’t spend the time actually celebrating, usually, and being fairly isolated just makes it hurt more. She has her father, but it’s difficult because they mourn in two different ways.

Her mother died in childbirth on December 21st. Aurore almost had a younger brother, but he didn’t make it either.

Aurore hadn’t known her mother for long. Dad mourns far more deeply than she does, but she has a few faint memories of her still.

“Did you ever want to meet her?” her dad asks.

“It’s…I don’t know,” Aurore says. “I’m happy with our lives, you know. And I barely know what it was like to love her. I might have, when I was younger, just after it all. But not anymore.”

“That’s…okay.” They both look at the grave. Aurore kneels to start cleaning it off, so the name is more visible on it.

* * *

She catches a glimpse of Chat Noir as they walk home. Perhaps she isn’t the only one mourning someone, stuck in sadness over the holidays.

Aurore shivers a bit. It’s okay, though. She’s okay.

* * *

The rest of the holiday break goes by slowly. Work is okay, though someone comments on how they seemed to have returned to their status at the beginning of their working relationship.

She doesn’t actively shut Mireille out. If Mireille wants to talk, well, she is capable of speaking.

Mireille seems lost, though, every time Aurore looks. Aurore doesn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. After all, it isn’t _her_ fault. It’s Mireille’s for deceiving her.

And Aurore doesn’t really see anyone else over the break besides the people from her church, her father, and the people at work. It is what it is. Her loneliness stays with her, but she buries herself in the homework she’s received, exploring the city, and 

She does run into Ladybug and Chat Noir mid-patrol once, which is a brief but nice conversation.

And soon enough, in the new year, they go back to school.

* * *

New seats means that she isn’t sitting next to Marc anymore. She’s back to sitting next to Emma, and she prepares herself for more frustration.

Mireille sits in Aurore’s former spot, next to Jean now. Marc’s on the other side of the aisle now, which is far away but not overly so. And even so, talking outside of class is a possibility.

She and Marc talk a bit before class. Marc tells her that she’s using she pronouns for now.

“How was your break?”

“Alright.” Marc shrugs. “I’ve officially posted over one hundred thousand words, as of my last story posted.”

“Congratulations.” Aurore smiles. “That’s a lot of words, I could never imagine doing that much.”

“You’re not a humanities person,” Marc responds. “It’s not that impressive, some people have done that much just on one work.”

Aurore shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. That’s still an accomplishment, at this point.”

Mme Mendelieve breezes into the room, and the two of them spring apart, sitting back in their seats.

Class goes off without any hitches — Emma even gets probably 70% right on the winter homework packet, which means that Aurore won’t need to work quite as hard for this portion of the year, at least.

* * *

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Mireille says, in the car. Her voice is lowered because Aurore’s father is driving them, and there’s not much privacy. “I don’t get it. What happened?”

Aurore wants to believe Mireille. Aurore wants to believe her so badly. But she can’t. She can’t trust someone who spent so long…

“I know what you are now,” Aurore responds, in the same low tone that Mireille first approached her in. “You don’t need to pretend anymore. You don’t need to pretend that you want to be friends with me. Leave me behind. I know the truth now. You don’t need to pretend that you actually wanted to befriend me.”

“What are you _talking about?”_ Mireille looks confused more than anything. But Aurore knows better than anyone how powerful a good actress can be. “I don’t understand. Could you please explain?”

“I get it.” Aurore shrugs. “You befriended me at the behest of your parents so that when I found out about your fraud I’d feel too guilty about even the _prospect_ of calling you out on it. It would almost be genius if I weren’t the one _manipulated_ as a result of it.”

“This is my fault for using the wrong words,” she hears Mireille mutter, turning to make eye contact with Aurore. “Listen to me. I know I said that every action I had taken was a result of my parents pushing me. That isn’t…quite right. The only action I have taken that wasn’t directly solicited by them was choosing to be your friend.”

A shiver trails down Aurore’s spine. “What?” She heard every bit of it. But she just…she can’t believe it. “Why _me?”_

“I don’t know.” Mireille ducks her head. “I just…it seemed right to reach out to you.” 

Aurore still doesn’t understand Mireille yet. It seems like every time she does, Mireille throws some new curveball her way and she has to try and work with it. But every new revelation brings about something she hadn’t considered before.

Maybe it’s just a matter of broadening her view of people. After all, Aurore knows that it was easier to believe that Mireille was a con artist like her, an actress. It’s harder to believe in people that are inherently good, inherently kind. After all, if there was still kindness, Aurore wouldn’t have a reason to act as herself.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Aurore sighs. “I just…I see the worst in people easily. Because there is so much bad.”

Mireille seems to realize something. “There is also so much kindness, Aurore. You’re kinder than you think you are.”

“Focus on yourself,” Aurore says. “I’ll help you find yourself, but you’re more important.”

And part of the reason why Aurore has a hard time pinning Mireille down is because Mireille doesn’t even have _herself_ pinned down.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about with your kindness.” Mireille smiles.

Kindness.

Mireille gives her so much, but is Aurore truly worthy of it?

* * *

She sits besides Marc when she gets into the classroom. It isn’t her usual seat, but she knows that…he’ll need some sort of comfort after the earlier events. She’s one of the few that’s had the experience in their class — she knows he can receive support from the art kids and other people, but she can offer him something too.

“Why are you sitting here?” Marc asks. “You’re not supposed to.”

“It’s just for now,” Aurore says. “When your benchmate gets here I’ll move. I just wanted to talk to you, if you’re…willing to talk about what happened.”

“What was it like after?”

“Don’t worry about my experience. Yours will be different, because people have accepted the akumas, people _know_ them now. It’s not like…I was one of the first. People still didn’t understand yet. So you’ll face more kindness and compassion than I did.”

“You really think so?” he responds.

“You’re more likely to experience hate for your gender than your akumatization.” Aurore puts it on the table, because it’s true. “And it’s not like you hide that, do you?” He shakes his head. “So you don’t have to be ashamed of getting akumatized.”

“You’re right.”

“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat from behind them. “This is my seat, get out, weathergirl.”

Aurore rolls her eyes and crosses the aisle to scoot into her seat.

* * *

Her and Mireille’s relationship improves from there, yet again. It isn’t exactly unexpected.

Their class coordinates for Heroes Day — they’re not quite like Mme Bustier’s class, their teacher doesn’t care quite as much about it. She’s expected to be in the festivities as a worker for the TV station, too, so she doesn’t have as much time to devote to a project as the others do elsewhere.

Besides, Mme Mendelieve says that they need to keep covering curriculum, and she has “no time for silly frivolities and neither do you as students”. 

And then Ladybug _turns on_ Chat Noir, and her devastation freezes her. Ladybug and Chat Noir were once some of the only people that supported her.

And when Hawk/Scarlet Moth asks them to reprise their roles, she wants to resist — she cries, she yells, she sees Mireille come for her from the noise and in her distraction she loses her ability to resist.

Stormy Weather rises, and points her umbrella at Mireille — but falters, and delivers a mere gust of wind.

A mercy, compared to the _hell_ that she will rain on Paris.

* * *

She comes to awareness in the arms of one of the heroes. The person sets her down, and she takes in her surroundings.

There are so many others. And there are five superheroes out. All of them are busy fighting others. And…she needs to find Mireille. She knows Mireille probably didn’t get akumatized — she resists more than most, somehow — but Prime Queen is here, so Mireille at least had been in danger.

She runs away before one of the akumas still left in the square attacks her. The heroes already saved her enough.

* * *

“Mireille!” she calls when she gets inside the station. There are still people out and about in Paris that weren’t affected (they’re probably hiding now), but she can see shattered glass and she _runs_ through the building to find Mireille. Aurore curses herself for the shoes she wears, not even close to functional for climbing stairs. “Mireille!”

“Aurore?”

“Keep talking!” Aurore shouts back, turning her head towards the call.

“I’m right here! You can’t be too far.” She follows the sound of Mireille’s voice to a janitor’s closet.

“Hi,” Aurore says when she opens the door. She can’t help but smile, because Mireille is safe.

“Hi,” Mireille answers, smiling back. “So I presume that they saved you?”

“I…yeah, I guess.” Aurore sighs. “It isn’t over yet, but I wanted to find you and make sure you were safe.”

“Well, I am.”

“All of the akumas are gathered in front of the Eiffel Tower. I don’t know how many more people are left there. I got out as soon as I could so that none of their powers could affect me.”

Aurore notices that she’s still gripping Mireille’s hands and lets go. It was just…a gesture of concern.

“So, you want to hide out and watch the news footage together?” Mireille asks, waving her phone.

“Sure.” Aurore smiles, going into the closet and shutting the door.

* * *

A few hours later, Aurore notices that Mireille fell asleep. The footage isn’t airing anymore — she’s just playing a game on the phone right now.

She sees the ladybugs come through, though.

“Hey, Mireille, wake up,” Aurore says, shaking her awake. “The attack is over.”

“Oh.” Mireille gets up and they walk out of the closet. “When did I fall asleep?”

Aurore shrugs. “I haven’t been keeping track of time very well either.”

Alec approaches them. “Where have you two _been?_ Back to the show, ladies, so we can get you back in your classes ASAP.”

The two of them exchange a look. Aurore understands Alec, sort of at least. He’s someone who just wants to keep his job, which means he needs to get high ratings. But that doesn’t mean Aurore _approves_ of his actions.

“We were hiding out from the attack. I fell asleep. Aurore just woke me up,” Mireille responds.

“No matter.” Alec shakes his head. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They become closer after that incident. Aurore doesn’t understand exactly why. But she’s come to learn that connections between people are strange, and she doesn’t need to understand.

Mireille is a good study buddy too, diligent in her work. (Even if Aurore is smarter.)

“What does it feel like?” Mireille asks. “Getting akumatized, that is.”

“The first time…I was angry enough where it was okay. But during Heroes Day? It was bad. I just…I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t, and it just kept pressuring and pressuring me until I gave in. It waits for your spoken consent, but it _forces it out of you._ That…isn’t really consent.”

Mireille shakes her head. “No, it isn’t.”

“I don’t remember everything I did.”

“You…you could have done so much worse to me,” Mireille says, “at the beginning. You just blew me a side, and I saw Stormy Weather using lightning on others. So why just use a gentle gust?”

“I wish I knew.” Aurore fidgets a bit. She doesn’t like talking about her akumatization(s, now), but if she had to pick anyone to talk about it with, it'd be Mireille. “Maybe some part of her still recognized you as my friend. And so it went…lighter on you. Gave you some mercy. I don’t know.”

“I’m glad,” Mireille responds, the edge of a laugh gracing her voice. “Being struck by lightning seems like it would hurt.”

“It does.” Aurore frowns when she thinks about her, her inflicting that pain upon others. “I…I’m so sorry.”

“You weren’t responsible.” Mireille brings her into an embrace.

“I’m a sore loser.” Aurore resists the temptation to cry. She’s hurt Mireille worse than she’s hurt _anyone_ else, and yet she so easily accepts Aurore.

“That’s fixable.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ve accepted what I am.” Aurore takes a deep breath, and then lets go. As soon as she does, she feels the absence of that warmth keenly. “And I know I’m young and I have time to change, but it doesn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.”

“That’s okay. I still don’t understand myself. You do, and I envy that. You’re confident in yourself, even if the person you…well, the person you _were_ wasn’t that great.”

Aurore gasps in mock horror. “So you’re saying that I’m not perfect?” She smiles, though, trying to say that she’s just joking around.

“Oh, come on,” Mireille smiles in return and boops her gently in the nose. “I know you understand yourself.” 

“Unfortunately,” Aurore teases in return.

“I just…I don’t want to get akumatized.”

“Then I’ll just keep making you happy.”

* * *

Report cards come in, as they do. She’s generally been happy with hers.

She’s got her 99 in science and 92 in math, but she has an 84 in Literature and lower still grades…

What will her father do to her for it? How will she get into a good lycee at this rate? (The public one is good enough, but she needs to pass this grade to get in here…)

And, of course, to rub salt into the wound, Chloe is there to make her feel worse about it.

Marinette steps up to defend her, ever the kind soul (actually, Marinette reminds Aurore of Mireille, in a way, both people that are far too kind for the world). But she still flees away to the car to go home, and gets akumatized.

Apparently, the second version of Stormy Weather was more powerful, and wanted the world to be as cold as Chloe Bourgeois’s heart.

Mireille comes and helps her up afterwards.

“It’s okay, Aurore.”

“Right after I assured you I’d do my best…”

“See?” Mireille smiles, and Aurore doesn’t…get it. “Progress isn’t linear, Aurore. You don’t have to do everything at once.”

“I know. Neither do you,” she answers.

“I know.”

* * *

“What do you think of Nathaniel?” Marc asks. They’re eating lunch together, because Mireille has to run an errand somewhere or something. Aurore didn’t get the exact story. “It’s, well, we have a lot more in common than I thought.” They blush, and Aurore _gets it._ She glances over at the redhead sitting across the courtyard from the duo.

“What do you mean by that?” she asks. “And why are you asking me?”

“Just…thinking about things. Do you think he likes me?” 

“I mean, he probably likes you platonically, but I don’t know about romantic.” Aurore shrugs. “I’m not great at romance, after all.”

“Oh. But I thought you and Mireille…?”

Aurore tilts her head. “Wait, what?”

“Ithoughtyoutwowere…dating.” The words come out too fast, but Aurore can still pick them out.

“We’re not,” Aurore says. “Just friends. I’m not into girls.” She’s pretty sure she isn’t, at least, because wouldn’t she have known by now? After all, Marc is confident in themself, has known who they are and who they’re attracted to since a young age. If she’s attracted to girls wouldn’t it have surfaced by now?

Marc mutters something she doesn’t catch. 

“So I guess you aren’t qualified to give advice.”

“Absolutely not.” Aurore snorts. “I guess all I can say is to go for it? I know your anxiety can make things hard, but just…don’t let it stop you.”

Marc seems to ponder that. “That’s…actually pretty good.”

“Why did you think Mireille and I are dating? I mean, we’ve been friends for a while, if I were dating someone I would tell you about it.”

“A few months isn’t a _while,”_ Marc responds. “But…I mean, I guess maybe I just thought you two were choosing to keep it a secret because you didn’t want people who would potentially hurt you both for your relationship knowing about it.”

“Oh.” The reasoning makes sense, even if the conclusion is incorrect.

“And you two seem really close in a short amount of time, you know? It’s like, you were competitors, and then you were best friends, and it seemed like…” They snap. “You seem like a stubborn person to me.”

“I am,” Aurore answers, “but Mireille is too. Enough to make me give way.”

“And you’re sure you don’t like her?” they tease.

Aurore shakes her head. Her prime instinct is still to be taken aback more than anything else. “She’s my…friend. And we’re still working things out. There were a lot of misunderstandings, and they’ve mostly been cleared, but I’m still figuring out how to be friends with her. And she’s working on figuring out who she is.”

Marc tilts their head. “Okay. Assumption cleared, you and Mireille are friends. But I’m still your bestie, right?”

“It’s only because you don’t have any competition,” Aurore teases in return.

* * *

They’re asked to speak on Friendship Day, because they’re one of the prime examples of friendship that the network has. Well, the producers behind the scenes all know their story. Aurore supposes it’s something out of some teenage coming-of-age novel. Competition rivals, one of them learns to get over their issues and accept friendship.

(Not that the _public_ knows all that. To the public, they’ve been friends the whole time.)

Aurore doesn’t object. Objection isn’t good for the company, after all, and they all want her to be a perfect employee.

Besides, she doesn’t care. If they want her to help host Friendship Day, she can do that.

* * *

Adrien is there when she gets to the studio, the prize for the scavenger hunt. He’s busy speaking with the executives, who are going to tell him and the driver where to go and what to say.

She places a hand on his shoulder, a silent show of solidarity, and then acquiesces to join Mireille to rehearse what they have to say. There’s a teleprompter, but the two of them like to at least know their words, and use the teleprompter to prop them up when necessary.

“Live in two minutes, ladies!” Alec yells to them. Aurore sighs.

“Let’s do this.” Mireille gives her a smile, and Aurore nods back in return.

They’re ready. And she feels a sense of pride, to be able to get up there and talk about friendship to the world and _mean_ it.

And as the scavenger hunt kicks off, Aurore feels genuinely happy — maybe more people will make new friends.

* * *

“I had a great time,” Aurore hears Adrien say when she passes by. “I mean, the akuma threw a wrench in things, but it was mostly fun.”

Aurore sighs. She’s not happy about the akuma attack either, but she supposes it was better to be an overprotective parent than someone unhappy with their partner.

She goes into her class and sits down.

“How was yesterday?” she asks Emma, because everyone’s been abuzz about it.

“The person was one of the girls in Bustier’s class,” Emma responds. “We got along alright.”

“That’s good.” Aurore smiles. “And how was the homework?”

“I don’t know.” Emma ducks her head. “I’m not sure if I get it.”

“Can I look it over for you?” Aurore offers out of some sense of obligation — she feels responsible for how Emma does in science, which is a little bit ridiculous but while they’re sitting next to each other she won’t try to shake it off.

“Sure.” Emma takes the worksheet out of her bag, and Aurore checks it over. She indicates one spot where she got the right answer but forgot to carry the negative to the final spot, but Emma did well on the sheet.

“You forgot a negative sign here, but otherwise you did a great job,” Aurore responds, handing the worksheet back to Emma. “Congrats.”

Emma looks...overjoyed. “I…wow.”

“You’ve improved a _lot,_ Emma. You should be proud.”

“Really?” But their conversation is interrupted by the entrance of their teacher.

* * *

She and Mireille go to a cafe for lunch that day. Marc has decided to work up the courage to ask out Nathaniel, so she needs to go away for a bit, and Mireille offers as she does most of the time to eat lunch with Aurore.

“So, what’s up?” Mirelle asks.

“I’m just…thinking about stuff.” Aurore sighs. “Marc thought we were dating.”

Mireille laughs. “I hope you told Marc we aren’t.”

“I cleared it up for him.” Aurore sighs. “I mean, I’m not into girls anyways, so…”

“I am,” Mireille answers. “Into girls, that is. Not like, _you,_ not my type, but I like both.”

“I haven’t really been into anyone before, actually. Guy or girl. So I just think I’m not into anyone. Might or might not be accurate, but it’s better to think of myself as _that_ than as not having met the right person, because that doesn’t feel good to think about.” Aurore shrugs. “But if there is someone that I do get attracted to, then I’ll deal with that as it comes. Everyone just…seems to have that part figured out already, and I still don’t know. I know everything else about myself except who I love.”

“It’s okay to not know yet. I only just figured out recently, in the crusade to figure out who I am.” Mireille makes eye contact with Aurore. “So that’s fine.”

It’s a little uncomfortable, so Aurore tears herself away from it. She shrugs. “If it comes it comes, if it doesn’t it doesn’t. I don’t need to worry about it until then.”

Mireille turns back to her food. “Okay.”

Aurore turns back to finish her meal, too, but finds that her appetite is gone. They walk back to school and just chatter about random things, like the literature quiz coming up soon.

* * *

“How’d it go?” Aurore asks Marc. They stand in the hallway, Aurore sneaking glances to see when their teacher will come so that they can…well, okay, Mme Bustier won’t get angry at them, but reflexes.

“It went well! Nathaniel…seems to like me, I guess. He agreed to go on a date and see where it goes. We didn’t do anything besides hug, and I kept blushing, but I think it’s going to be good.”

“That’s good,” Aurore simply responds. “I’m glad it went well, you seem to like him a lot.”

“And how was your lunch?”

“Mireille came out to me.” Aurore sighs. “You always seemed so sure of yourself. How did you know?”

“It was kind of always there,” Marc responds, “but I didn’t…have the words until later for what I am.”

“I’m not like that. I’ve never…really felt that way towards anyone, and that leaves me unable to determine who it might be.”

“That’s okay. We're only teenagers. You have plenty of time to figure it out. And I can support you, though I’m not sure if helping you out would exactly be beneficial.”

“I need to figure this out for myself.” 

“We gotta head in now.” Marc peeks over her shoulder.

She tugs him into the classroom so they can sit at their respective spots.

* * *

Summer is coming soon. It’s weird to think about how she’ll be in lycee soon, and how she’ll probably be separated from quite a few of her peers. But maybe not.

Well, at the very least, Mireille won’t be leaving anytime soon. Unless they suddenly get kicked off of the station, they should be working together at least for the next few years.

It sounds like a long time. But Aurore knows that eventually they’ll all have to part ways. It terrifies her.

Maybe it won’t when the time comes. She can take a deep breath and focus on the present. On the friends she has right now.

On, hopefully, the friends she’ll stay with for lycee too.

Spring in the city isn’t that beautiful. There isn’t as much landscape to shift, not as much snow to melt. The longer days are something to look forward to, considering that getting up early is much harder when the sun isn’t up.

But it is still a period of _change._

She just hopes that it’ll be for the better.

* * *

“Your image has softened, Aurore,” Alec Cataldi tells her. “You aren’t the same person that you were before.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The people who did vote for you voted for you because you presented yourself…”

“You want me to act more cruel?” Aurore raises an eyebrow.

“Image is everything. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“Of course I am.” Aurore resists the urge to turn and walk out. “But I do have my doubts that I would have won if the vote wasn’t rigged.”

“How do _you_ know about that?” Alec asks. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

She shrugs. “If I was going to do anything with that knowledge, I would have already. It’s been almost eight months.”

“...Fine.” Alec concedes, and Aurore for the first time feels like she has the _upper hand_ in a conversation with him.

“Images can change. I’d rather paint myself as kind, as someone who’s a…more suitable companion to Mireille. Branding myself as untouchable didn’t seem to work out last time.”

“Acceptable. But I still would like to know how that information reached you.”

“I am not going to do anything with it. I wouldn’t jeopardize my position or Mireille’s with that information. I don’t want to leave this job now that I have it. And I like working with Mireille.”

“I always thought you understood business better than her.” Aurore mentally reminds herself to remain calm. “You don’t present your true self to the cameras. You present _less_ of yourself than she does.”

“And I thought you understood our audience. They want to connect with the person on the screen. Perfection doesn’t appeal to them the same way that compassion does. I might understand the inner workings of the company and business, but Mireille understands _people_ better than either of us.” Aurore gets up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an education to obtain.”

Something crosses Alec’s face — defeat? “Think about what I’ve said, Aurore. I know we have a contract, but we can always…renegotiate the terms.”

Aurore counts it as a win that she got him to crack at all.

* * *

“What took you so long?” Mireille asks when Aurore sits down in the backseat next to her.

“Alec needed to talk to me.” 

“What about? Are you going to…?”

“I’m not leaving. Not anytime soon, at least.” Aurore takes a deep breath. “I know he’s technically our boss but he really makes me mad.”

“I think you and him would get along better than him and I,” Mireille answers.

“I’m not so sure about that now,” Aurore confesses. “It was a fairly epic argument, though I’m not sure if we were _really_ arguing about conflicting things.”

“Oh.” Mireille lightly trails a finger along Aurore’s arm. It’s a strangely intimate gesture. “Well, as long as you’re not in any danger of losing the job.”

“I promise you that we’re going to stay collaborators for a long time,” Aurore answers. “Whether we work for them or not. I want to keep working with you.” Mireille just smiles in response.

* * *

Final exams swamp Aurore. She and Marc study together, Emma pays her to make sure she passes the science finals, and Mireille helps her with the literature exam because Aurore does not feel overly confident in that subject.

(She’s a STEM person, as they might say in more anglocentric countries.)

Through it all, the weather is nothing of note, and Alec leaves her without any more ultimatums.

Perhaps he understands her reasoning, or something like that. Aurore can only hope.

She makes sure to get Marc’s number, because if they end up at different lycees (Marc mentioned applying to one for the creative arts, but not many of them treat writing as an art) she wants to stay friends with them.

Aurore, luckily, aces all the final exams. Emma gets a passing grade, which means Aurore has officially earned her money from that tutoring she did. Marc has an ice cream celebration to go to because Nathaniel is going with Bustier’s class, and they’re going to Andre’s ice cream cart.

(She never really understood the hype around Andre’s ice cream cart, especially for people who aren’t in romantic relationships. She’s been there once. She just got plain vanilla, because there was no one in her life the way Andre probably wanted there to be for business’s sake.)

(It just doesn’t seem like a very profitable business idea.)

(Then again, Paris is the city of romance, she supposes. Probably a lot of foreign couples on honeymoon hear the myths and like the idea.)

The first day of summer break is spent relaxing at the library to get away from the heat. She spends the time reading a couple of books and listening to music. She uses some of the money she made to get lunch at a nearby street vendor, and she eats it in contentment when someone waves to her.

“Hey Aurore!”

“Adrien?”

“Shhh,” he says, as he sits across from her. “I’m not supposed to be out. I’m _supposed_ to be fencing with Kagami.”

“Oh?” She doesn’t know Adrien all too well; why would he choose to join her while she eats?

“Kagami wanted to join some of her friends from lycee. They’re going to a boba place. I’ve been, so I decided to just do some wandering when I saw you.”

“You know, if you want to stay in disguise I’m not the greatest pick. Also, where’d you get that beret?”

“Fan club in Brazil. Ladybug delivered it to me.” He blushes, and she rolls her eyes. How are people attracted to people they don’t even know? “I guess I’m not really over her. I’m trying, for Kagami’s sake, but…”

“I don’t want to hear about your romantic problems, Adrien,” Aurore responds. “Best of luck figuring them out, though.”

“Okay. How’s your summer been?”

“Boring, really. I might look into volunteering somewhere, besides the news station I don’t have much going on.” Aurore sighs. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this time.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Adrien answers. “At least it’s a little less busy now, without school. Not that I’m…ungrateful for the opportunity, but it’s nice to have a little less speed going on in my life.”

She nods. “When you’re busy all the time, free time is a gift.”

“Exactly.” Adrien looks at his phone. “I gotta go. See you around?”

“Sure?” Aurore answers, because what else can she say to that?

* * *

She catches up on the _Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir _comic the next day. She’s missed what was posted during the preparation for finals.

(Maybe she should get a hobby like that. It would help keep her occupied, too, beyond just the occasional walk. But she’s never been a very artsy person. She doesn’t know what she’d do.)

An advertisement at the end of the comic is atypical, but when she looks at the contents it makes sense.

It’s a space for queer students. Their first meeting is at a park, and Aurore marks down the date on her phone’s calendar. May as well. She doubts they’ll turn her away.

Aurore admires Marc and Nathaniel’s bravery. She wonders if Mireille would be able to come out publicly, if she ever wanted to. Aurore doesn’t know what the word for her is (and she wants one, she needs one more definitive), so she doesn’t even want to think about what comes next.

She sends Mireille a couple screenshots of the announcement/advertisement.

* * *

Aurore recognizes some of the people there. There are about ten — Marc and Nathaniel, of course. Mireille is there, too, and offers Aurore a spot next to her silently, which she takes. She recognizes a pink-haired girl(?) from what Marc has told her of the art kids. And she recognizes Bustier’s old class representative and her deputy, but she doesn’t know their names.

“It’s around five minutes past the time where we said we’d start, so I guess we’ll get started,” Nathaniel says. “I guess first things first we can go around and introduce ourselves — name, pronouns, if you want to share your identity feel to. I’ll start. I’m Nathaniel or just Nath if you want, he/him, bi.” He taps Marc’s shoulder.

“Marc, she/her for today — it changes. I’m genderfluid and only attracted to boys.”

A few strangers go — a nonbinary person named Taylor, a boy named Max who’s asexual, the pink-haired art person named Alix who identifies as aromantic and uses all pronouns (Aurore will have to talk to them later, she’s interested in learning about that). The class rep, whose name is Marinette and says she’s bi. Alya, her deputy, also bi. And then it’s Mireille’s turn, and now for her.

“Aurore, she/her, questioning but probably somewhere aromantic?” She shrugs.

A few more people, and the circle is complete.

“I’m not really sure how these things work,” Nathaniel confesses. “I guess…what do you want to see out of this?”

“A place where I can explore my identity without judgement,” Aurore starts.

“A place where we don’t have to hide,” one of the people after her — if she remembers correctly, a trans girl?

Nathaniel nods. “I’m just not sure how we can keep the time occupied,” he says.

“We could just treat it as an open discussion,” Marc proposes. “People are free to talk to whoever they want, or just keep to themselves if they want. At least for today.”

Unprepared.

Oh well.

Aurore decides to go talk to Alix. Perhaps that’ll help her somewhat.

“What are you doing here, weathergirl?”

“I have a name,” Aurore quips in response. “I just wanted to ask you some questions.” 

“About what?” Alix crosses her arms. “I’m not the ultimate authority on anything.”

“I wanted to ask you what ‘aromantic’ means,” Aurore says, sitting down next to Alix.

* * *

That talk leaves her with frankly, more questions than answers. Aurore is fairly certain that she’s demi, though, which is…something.

It explains why she isn’t able to figure out which people she’s attracted to, because there _is_ only a limited amount of possibilities.

(She doesn’t get close to people very often. Marc and Mireille are the _exceptions,_ not the rules.)

So that’s that.

They agree to regroup next week, maybe with an activity to actually do.

Aurore looks forward to it. It’s going to help the summer pass by more quickly, at the very least, and now that she _does_ know whether she really belongs there she feels more at ease with going.

She and Mireille continue to do the weather, at the studio for longer since it’s summertime and the studio can work them harder.

Aurore almost manages to forget about Bastille Day. It’s come faster than she thought it would. There are festivities for it, but she doesn’t celebrate in any exceptional way. She watches a program on the TV about it with her father. It’s quiet, and Aurore almost prefers it this way.

* * *

Lycee is…different. She and Mireille are going to the same one, which probably makes sense with geography. Quite a few of the people in the group that she remembers from college are going, too, but she knows at least Nathaniel is going to a specialized art school.

Aurore is going to pursue a more science-focused path. She knows what she wants to do with herself. It isn't even a _choice._

(Well, it is, but it’s one she made a long time ago.)

Mireille ultimately decides to go into the science track as well. That means they’ll share a _lot_ of classes, which makes Aurore sort of panic.

Well, she can’t identify it as anything besides panic, but the feeling isn’t quite that. It’s panic, but shifted slightly to the side, just different enough for it to count as a separate emotion.

Marc goes into the humanities track, which is far from surprising.

She and Mireille are in the same classes as Adrien, which is a little surprising at first but once she really thinks about that it isn’t.

It’s different, but a lot of the people are still the same, and she can reconnect with her older friends — though a year is a long time, and not all of them want to be friends again.

* * *

The weather starts getting colder.

One weekend, Mireille _calls_ her. Mireille never calls; they either communicate through in-person talking or texting.

“Mireille?” Aurore asks.

“I told them,” Mireille says. “I told them that I like girls too, and they didn’t react well. I’m not…I’m not kicked out. I just…I left. I couldn’t stay. I just don’t know what’s happening…”

And then Aurore hears faintly the sound of Hawk Moth’s voice. “Mireille, listen to me, don’t listen to him, please, you don’t want to, you’ve held out this long, you can’t give up now, please, Mireille, stay on the line, please don’t hang up, don’t listen to him-”

"Aurore,” Mireille chokes out. “I…”

The line is not quite silent but she can’t make out what Hawk Moth is saying, what poisonous words he’s saying to convince her to fall under his spell.

“No,” Mireille chokes out. “I won’t…I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Mireille?” Aurore probes. “Can you hear me?” 

She hears sobbing on the other end. “Make it stop, please…”

“Don’t listen to him, Mireille, stay on the line—”

“It isn’t Mireille. It’s Rainbow Bright.”

Aurore hears Mireille’s phone fall to the ground, and Aurore knows that Mireille has been lost, at least for now.

She hangs up the phone, and calls the police.

“Hello? I’d like to report an akumatization.”

Aurore gets up and prepares to go find Mireille. It’s dangerous, but she doesn’t care. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I was on the phone with a friend when she was akumatized. Hawk Moth calls her Rainbow Bright now, I don’t know what her powers are, I just…”

“I know it can be very stressful when a friend is akumatized, miss, but please calm down.” 

Aurore takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“It’s good that you’re letting us know. We’re putting an alert out for your friend right now. Please go somewhere safe, if you aren’t already, and let Ladybug and Chat Noir do their work.”

“Okay.” She isn’t going to do that, but she can at least pretend to listen and care about what this man is telling her. She hangs up, and opens her window. It’s maybe ten feet to the ground, she can do it. She changes into not-pajamas (jeans and a hoodie) and jumps out.

Aurore lands in a roll, spreading out her body weight.

“Let’s go,” she whispers, pulling up the Ladyblog to see where her report got her.

Mireille was akumatized near her house — it seems she didn’t run far before calling Aurore.

Chat Noir is already on the ground when she arrives at the scene. She looks at Mireille’s akumatized form, and resists the urge to have a breakdown. The smile on the akuma’s face looks _plastered_ on, and Aurore knows that it isn’t Mireille, because Mireille doesn’t repress her emotions. It’s more that she isn’t negative enough to warrant akumatization.

Until now.

“Mir-Rainbow!” Aurore calls, dashing out there on some whim. She puts her hood down, lets Mireille look her in the eye.

“Aurore,” Mireille responds, and it reminds her of a siren almost. She wants to come closer, wants to do something else, wants to… 

“Aurore, get back!” Chat Noir yells.

“I…”

 _“Aurore,”_ Mireille calls, and every part of her wants to respond, but it’s just part of the akuma’s hypnosis.

Chat Noir yanks her away before she can move forward.

“What are you thinking?” he demands. “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that.”

“She’s my friend.”

“She certainly isn’t your friend right now, Aurore. Please, let us do our job.”

Aurore looks over at Mireille, not doing anything besides floating, little rainbows coming out (presumably some kind of jet power). “Okay.”

She spots Ladybug out of her peripheral vision, landing on the field and casting a Lucky Charm.

“Chat!” she calls, and he fires off a quick salute to Aurore and runs into the field.

Aurore bundles in on herself. She wonders what Mireille’s goal here is, what she’s doing, what they could do.

She spots something nearby. Mireille’s phone. The screen is cracked and it’s still on, flickering from where Aurore ended the call. She probably shouldn’t do this, but she’s going to do it anyway.

Aurore goes into Mireille’s phone and calls her parents.

“Where are you?”

“Are you aware of what you’ve done?” Aurore asks, making sure her tone is extra scathing. “Your daughter is akumatized.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Aurore. Her _friend._ I was on the line with Mireille when she was akumatized. I filed a report, and then came to find her.”

“What?”

“Check the news, and maybe you’ll find out exactly what you _did to her.”_ Aurore takes a deep breath. “And I know that you want her to be perfect. But perfection is _fake.”_

The words come out of her mouth, and she’s found a sort of clarity in saying them. It abruptly dawns on her that it was what _she_ was trying to be.

(She and Mireille are more similar than she ever thought.)

“...young lady.” Aurore must have completely tuned out.

“I hope you welcome her with open arms when she comes home. She deserves better than you. But since you’re what she’s got, the _least_ you can do is treat her like a human being.”

“Miss Beaureal, I don’t think you understand. Mireille needs to be purged of this-”

“No. She doesn’t.” Aurore peeks out of the alley to see that Ladybug and Chat Noir have deakumatized Mireille. Her time is drawing short. “It’s not unnatural. People like her have existed longer than there has been discrimination against them. She doesn’t need to change to please you.”

“And what do you have to say about it?”

“Like I said. I’m her friend, and I’m willing to stand up for her.” Aurore presses End Call for the third time that month, and the cure repairs the screen of the phone from where Mireille dropped it after being akumatized.

“Aurore?” Mireille stands in front of her.

Aurore offers Mireille her phone. “I talked to your parents. Well, it’s more like I argued with them…”

“Why would you do that?”

“You’re my friend, Mireille.” Aurore smiles. “And you deserve to have people that accept you.”

“You really think so?” Mireille responds.

Aurore pulls her into an embrace. “I _know_ so.”

“Your friendship with Marc has changed you a lot,” Mireille comments.

 _“You’ve_ changed me a lot,” Aurore answers.

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t be the person that I am right now without you,” she affirms. “And I couldn’t be more grateful for that. I wasn’t a good person before.”

“You were. You just needed to find it.”

They separate, but not really. The two of them still have the other’s hands clasped, standing close to each other.

“I love you,” Mireille confesses, and Aurore just freezes, like a pigeon in the middle of a road with an incoming car.

And then it kicks in, and she runs.

It’s approximately past her bedtime, at any rate, and she needs to be at home right now.

It’s not cowardice. It isn’t.

* * *

One positive about being in lycee is being able to choose her seat, so she claims the spot next to Adrien. Whoever normally sits next to him will just have to pick another seat for the day.

“What happened?”

“It’s…complicated,” Aurore responds. 

“I thought you and Mireille were like this.” He crosses his fingers.

“We are close friends,” she answers. “I hope so, at least.”

She taps her fingers on the desk.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I don’t…know? I was tired last night, and unprepared to handle the situation, and now I just kind of don’t want to think about it, so I’m sitting with you for the day until I figure out what I’m doing.”

“Okay. No judgement here, confusion is valid as a feeling and I struggle with it a lot too.”

“Thanks,” she responds, sighing.

Sleep certainly helped, but she still needs to think more. What is she supposed to do with Mireille’s love? Does she love Mireille?

The bell rings for the day.

Good. Numbers and facts don’t care about _feelings,_ and she can lose herself in the honest brutality of it.

* * *

“Hey, Marc,” she says, sitting next to them in the courtyard.

“How’s it going?”

“Mediocre,” she answers, “but sometimes that’s the best you can do.”

“I saw on the news that Mireille got akumatized and you were out there, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just didn’t get much sleep after that,” she answers, breathily laughing between words. “It was late.”

“That sounds awful,” they answer.

“Hey, what happened?” Mireille sits across from the two of them. “Why’d you sit next to Adrien?”

Marc looks over at her, silently questioning.

“I needed some space and time to think.” There’s an implied “without you” in there, but Aurore doesn’t care. “I just…”

“If you still need time…”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about this with them around,” Aurore answers, indicating Marc.

“Her today, actually,” Marc pipes up.

“Okay. Do you still want more space?”

“I…do you have anywhere to be?” Even now, she doesn’t want Mireille to be alone.

“I have places I can go,” Mireille answers.

“Or I can leave,” Marc says. She scratches the back of her neck. “If you want to talk it out.”

Aurore swallows. “I’m not ready for that.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you after lunch, Aurore,” Mireille says, waving as she walks off.

Aurore sighs.

“So, what happened?” Marc asks.

“I told you it was complicated.”

“Will talking help you?” She seems concerned, and Aurore wants to tell so badly.

“Um. After Ladybug and Chat Noir deakumatized her, we talked a little bit, and…”

“And?”

Aurore lowers her voice to a whisper. “She told me she loves me.”

Marc jolts at that. “Wait, really?”

“Apparently so,” Aurore responds. “I ran away from her. I didn’t know how to respond.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t platonic?”

Oh. That makes _everything_ so much easier. So much less complicated. “No. We were talking about how she helped me change a lot. And how she deserves people that will accept her.”

“I think you just panicked, Aurore.”

Aurore sighs, letting her inner tension out. “Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s good to be grounding someone else, instead of having someone to ground me.”

“Okay.” She smiles. She and Mireille have that kind of friendship where they _can_ say it to each other, and that’s _good._

Aurore sits next to Mireille in their next class. It’s good to be back at her side.

* * *

“So I take it you’ve made your decision?”

“I…misunderstood your intentions.” Aurore looks away from Mireille, ashamed. “I thought you meant something different,and that made me panic, but then I realized that there are multiple meanings, and it’s all okay.”

“Wait, what?”

“You’re my _friend,_ Mireille, and I love you too.”

“I…think you actually maybe had the right interpretation the first time,” Mireille answers, backing away a little bit. “I’m not inside your head, I don’t know what you think, but…”

“I don’t want to give up on our friendship,” Aurore says. But she doesn’t force Mireille to return, she doesn’t want to force Mireille to do _anything_ she doesn’t want.

“Aurore.”

“I don’t…get why it’s so confusing? Love isn’t inherently romantic, I’m sorry I misconstrued your intentions, and I want to be friends like we were before.”

“...Yeah, sure.” Mireille smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and Aurore wonders what exactly she’s done. “Thank you for talking to my parents. It didn’t help much, but at least they aren’t actively spitting out their hatred for who I am all the time or kicking me out.”

* * *

Mireille disappears after they do the weather. They normally take the time to remove makeup, do some final things, and then carpool to school.

“Mireille?”

Aurore hears Mireille’s voice coming from behind a closed door.

“...just because my akumatization was a rainbow doesn’t mean I’m gay.” 

“Don’t try to cover it up.” Alec is speaking with her — Mireille must be in serious trouble. “Your parents contacted us. People are speculating, Mireille, and while we won’t fire you because of your identity you need to decide whether to confirm the rumors or not.”

“I know.”

“Are you with anyone? It’ll be much easier to say that you are or aren’t if you’re dating someone.”

“No, I’m not, as much as I might want to be,” Mireille answers, firmer than Aurore would have expected. “She rejected me.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

So, Mireille likes a girl, but that girl rejected her…what sort of girl would reject Mireille? Aurore supposes that someone not attracted to girls would. But other than that she can’t see why anyone would reject romantic advances from Mireille.

“I need some time to think about coming out to the world. It’s…a big step up from just my parents. They want me to hide it. They want me to be straight.”

“Take all the time you need, but we will need a statement soon.”

“Okay.”

Aurore starts speed walking towards the door out, the fear of discovery lending her speed.

She can’t even tell Mireille about what she heard, because that would reveal that she was eavesdropping and she doesn’t want Mireille to think any less of her for that.

“Hey, where were you?” she asks Mireille quickly, leaning against a wall next to the door as though she’s always been there.

“I…one of the producers wanted to speak with me.”

“Okay. What about?” Aurore tilts her head.

“They want me to come out. Or denounce the rumors entirely.” Mireille lowers her head. “I don’t…know what to do.”

“What are your options?”

“I come out. Tell the world I’m bi, or something. Or I completely denounce that part of myself, and if I ever date a girl, well, we would have to keep it a secret.”

“So, it just comes down to whether you want to hide or not.” The beep of a car horn. They both look at it.

“I’m still thinking,” Mireille says. “We have to go.”

Aurore holds the door for Mireille, and they get in the car together.

* * *

The weekend brings with it a little reprieve from the hard work of school, but also _having to do the noon newscast._

She’s meeting up with Marc after this, thank goodness. They haven’t seen each other in a few days more than just a “hi” in the hallways, and she wants to take the chance to catch up.

She walks out of the studio feeling good, really. Tired, but happy. The forecast was productive, their news was good, there haven’t been any akuma attacks in a while…life is going well.

There’s still the looming threat for Mireille, but Aurore…doesn’t want to let that affect her too much.

So, she heads for lunch.

“Hey Marc!” she says as she sits down. “How have you been?”

“It’s been good to have more classes that I like. And, well, Nathaniel and I being at different schools actually helps our relationship.”

“That’s good,” Aurore answers, noncommittal.

“So, you told me what happened when Mireille got akumatized, but how are you two doing?”

“We’re doing great now.” Aurore smiles. “She was a little weird when I apologized to her, but I think the main thing is that the station wants her to either come out or reassure everyone that she’s straight, and she doesn’t know what to do. But that isn’t my conflict. I don’t have to come out. I could just be completely normal for the rest of my life and eventually fade away from the public eye after I get out of the job.”

“...Aurore, straight shouldn’t be inherently normal.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m _attracted_ to anyone. At least right now. It’s just easier to let people assume. Sometimes I doubt it’ll ever come.”

“Maybe it already has,” Marc suggests. “What exactly did they say?”

“They said it would be easier if she were in a relationship. She said that she liked a girl that rejected her.”

“Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks Marc. He doesn’t look at her.

“I…messed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Aurore, with that context I don’t think she meant that confession platonically.”

Oh. _Oh._

“So, what can I do?”

“That’s up to you?” Marc shrugs. “I mean, it depends on your feelings. If you do love her, you should go for it.”

“The thing is, I don’t know.” Aurore hangs her head. “If I knew, this would be easy.”

“And how long do you think it’ll take you to know?” Marc asks.

“Do you really need me to answer that?” Aurore asks. “Because I could answer. But I don’t think you’d be very happy with it. Feelings are hard.”

“You don’t know?” Marc asks with a wry smile. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Why was it so easy for you?” she groans, faceplanting on the table.

“Because _I_ am a functional gay, thank you very much,” Marc answers.

Aurore looks up to look Marc directly in the eye. “That’s a lie.”

“Well, who actually got with their crush?” he teases in return.

“Oh, like you weren’t scared at all.”

“But I made a _move_ through my fear,” he answers. “And that’s what matters.”

“I’m not afraid.” Aurore sighs. “If I knew for sure I’d tell her. But I don’t want to tell her while I’m not sure, because if it turns out that I don’t actually have feelings for her, then I’ve lied to her retroactively, and I don’t want to lead Mireille on.”

“That’s…actually pretty sweet, Aurore,” Marc says. “I can tell that you care about her a lot.”

“Really?” she asks. She recognizes that she cares more than she thinks, most of the time, but actually thinking about instances of that…

“Yeah. You know, seeing what you did in the competition, I thought you didn’t care about anyone,” Marc says. “But then…I mean, you had to care about Emma to help her with her grades, and I know you care about me.”

“You wish,” Aurore responds, but she’s just teasing, and they both laugh at that.

“I think also a part of that is that you’ve changed, too. I couldn’t have this conversation with you a year ago.”

“Because we weren’t friends there,” Aurore responds. “It’s not that complicated, Marc.”

“You’re probably right. So what are you going to do with this newfound knowledge?”

“Figure out how I feel. And then…well, if it’s romantic I apologize for the misunderstanding. If it’s platonic I just…I still tell her that I understand better, but that all I feel is platonic.”

“That sounds like a plan. So how _are_ you going to figure it out?”

“That’s the part I don’t know,” Aurore confesses. “It’s…messy.”

“I think…what would change if your relationship with Mireille was romantic? Think about that, and whether you _like_ that possibility or not.”

“Right.” Aurore closes her eyes, and tries to imagine. “I’ll…see you around?”

“Yeah,” Marc says. “Take your time, you don’t need to know right away.”

And strangely, that soothes her. “Thanks.”

* * *

Aurore buries her face in her pillow that night.

What would it be like? What _changes?_

The hangouts would probably be mostly the same, the conversations, the…well, there would probably be more physical contact. Aurore doesn’t mind that either, being able to hold hands or cuddle sometimes or just…lean onto each other in support.

But most of those can be platonic too, right? Just because she and Mireille do them doesn’t mean that they _couldn’t._ Aurore’s never been particularly touchy with anyone, so it would be a little weird, but she wants to hold Mireille’s hand, at the very least.

And…kissing. It’s a strange prospect, but she finds that she doesn’t mind, just in this case.

Aurore…wants to be Mireille’s girlfriend.

Well, the prospect of that is terrifying enough, but the most difficult part still lays in _asking._ After all, she inadvertently turned Mireille down once, how will Mireille take it if Aurore _does_ anything?

And Aurore _also_ has to be the one to do it, because she’s the one that messed it up in the first place, and screwed herself over in the process.

But she remembers how she encouraged Marc to ask out Nathaniel.

It’s a lot scarier when it’s her, as opposed to someone else. Does that make her a hypocrite? She hopes not. 

But…well, the only truly viable course of action is to _ask Mireille out._ Aurore knows that. It shouldn’t be this hard to make the choice. 

She needs to go to sleep.

That’s what it is. She should have more courage in the morning.

* * *

Well, one bad thing about the previous night’s revelations is that she has to face Mireille in school. And work. For most of the day.

Aurore can’t do this. It’s _not that easy._

What did she say to Marc? 

_“I guess all I can say is to go for it? I know your anxiety can make things hard, but just…don’t let it stop you.”_

Don’t let fear stop her.

She can do that. She can absolutely, one hundred percent, do that.

* * *

However, when she gets to the TV station, she abruptly realizes that, in fact, she _cannot_ do that.

“What’s wrong?” Mireille asks.

“I just…I had a realization last night.” Aurore sighs. “I won’t let it distract me, though.”

“That’s fine,” Mireille answers. “Whatever realization that is, I’m sure you’ll find a way through it.”

And they do the weather forecast, which goes about the same as normal. That’s about the best that Aurore can ask for at the moment.

School isn’t bad. Adrien ends up being the one to invite Aurore to sit with him, which is…a little strange.

“What’s wrong?” Aurore asks.

“I can’t sit with Max right now,” Adrien says. “We had an argument. I don’t…really want to talk about it.”

Aurore nods. “I…was talking to Marc yesterday, and they helped me realize that I…” She looks over at Mireille. “I’m in love with her. So I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do with that.”

“Congratulations on figuring it out, good luck on taking the next steps.” Adrien smiles.” I would offer advice, but I’ve been told I’m not actually that great at making romantic advances.”

“I mean, you and Kagami are together?” Aurore offers.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Adrien says, “but at any rate she’s the one who made all the moves. And when I tried to ask a girl out before, she rejected me, even though I thought I had everything right.”

“I mean, sometimes they just don’t like you back,” Aurore says, “but I _know_ it isn’t the case here, and I’m still afraid, because she took what I said as a rejection and now…I doubt she’s had enough time to get over her feelings, but I don’t want to be deliberating on this for so long to the _point_ where she doesn’t.”

“Don’t try…and make it special. I think that just makes it worse, from my experience. When it happens, it happens.”

So she doesn’t need to worry about it too much. “I think that actually works for me,” she says. “I think I was overthinking.”

“It happens.” He shrugs.

“So what was your argument with Max about?” she asks.

“...he found out a secret of mine. That’s all I really want to say about it. I don’t know when it’ll be resolved, just that it will be. I hope, at least.”

If Aurore were to characterize her and Adrien’s friendship, she would say that they were just…silent support. And she certainly _does_ value their friendship, because Marc and Mireille do tend to ask a lot of questions, but she _can,_ admittedly, find that overwhelming at times.

Different friendships for different times, and Adrien’s support is what she needs right now. And she can support him too.

The bell rings to start class, and Aurore gets into the lesson for the day. She spares a glance to Mireille during class. She seems focused. Aurore was, too, until she _decided_ to distract herself.

She looks back up at the board and takes down what she missed in the minute she took.

* * *

“I’ve made my choice,” Mireille says, as they walk to a fast-food restaurant to pick up lunch. “I’m going to come out.”

“You’re so brave,” Aurore says. “I’m glad that you’ve come to a decision about this.”

“It was hard,” Mireille answers. “I almost didn’t. And I mean, I’m not doing it to spite my parents, but it’s definitely a part of it. It’s…even if I don’t, there will still be speculation. I know that my safety comes first, and I made the slightest mistake, but…I know you’re here.” Aurore smiles at that. “And the station will back me, and so will our friends.”

“Of course,” she answers. “And if they don’t, well…” Aurore cracks her knuckles.

“Not that you pack much of a punch,” Mireille teases in return.

“I really don’t,” Aurore answers. “You’re right about that.”

“Still, I’m flattered that you would try.” Mireille laughs.

“I…” Aurore thinks about saying it. “Of course I would.”

“Right. Because we’re best friends.”

“Right.” Aurore uses finger guns to attempt to make it less awkward.

This is…uncomfortable. And it shouldn’t be. Not with Mireille. Aurore never imagined it _could_ be like this.

“Can you…proofread my statement?”

“You know neither of us are great with words,” Aurore answers, a little softer. “But sure.”

“You know the public better, at least. You know how to speak to them better than I do. My parents did all my PR for the contest. If I had tried I wouldn’t have been very convincing.”

“I think you underestimate yourself, Mireille,” Aurore answers. “But I’ll take a look at it.”

Mireille passes her the phone, with a note pulled up on it.

_Hello._

_After a few days, I’ve decided to break my silence about Rainbow Bright._

_I believe that everyone should feel safe enough to live their truth. I won’t certainly deny the themes of my akuma, convincing people to do things and the rainbow imagery. I was akumatized because I got too bold._

_I’m bisexual. Or something like that. It’s close enough._

_And this is a huge escalation from a small group of friends or even my parents (who were, admittedly, why I think I got too bold), but I need to address this._

_Everyone wants to know. And at this point, I’m *okay* with telling the world, thanks to the encouragement of several of my friends._

_I hope this inspires some kid out there to explore their identity. But just remember that you don’t have to tell anyone unless you feel absolutely safe doing so. And even doing that can be incredibly hard._

_So, be true to yourself — but you don’t owe that to anyone else._

_Mireille Caquet_

“This is excellent work, but I think you should…” Aurore makes a minor edit, just rephrasing to cut down on words a little bit.

Aurore passes the phone back to Mireille. “Thank you. I think the executives want to read it too, but I wanted you to look at it first.”

“I’m honored. And thanks for including all the parts where you say that you don’t owe truth to anyone else.” 

“I think…I needed to include that,” Mireille answers. “Because it’s true. A lot of people do unsafe things, including me, but secrets are _okay_ for safety.”

Aurore nods. “I mean, I’m not coming out to anyone else that I haven’t already, except maybe Adrien if he isn’t aware already.”

“Yeah, telling my parents was a mistake. I can admit that now. But this…well, I started it by telling them, and I’ll finish it by letting the world know. I feel safe enough not hiding where…I mean, I’ve already faced the worst that could happen. Losing the love of the people who are supposed to…”

“You have me,” Aurore says, stepping up to stake Mireille’s hands. “And I’ll always love you.”

“You can’t mean that. We’re _fifteen.”_

“I can believe it, at least.” Aurore smiles. “So…do you want to take a chance on me? I’m…I’m sorry if I made you believe that I rejected you, that I could only see you as a friend. I promise that isn’t true. I panicked, and Marc helped me realize that, well, platonic love exists and-”

Mireille laughs. “I forgive you. And, well…I do.”

Aurore can’t compare her feelings of elation to _anything_ else. There’s no stronger happiness than knowing that they love each other, at least not one that Aurore has experienced.

“Okay,” she says.

“I love you. As in romantically.”

Aurore shoves Mireille away playfully. “Love you too.”

“You are _not_ getting away with that one anytime soon.” 

“Oh no,” Aurore answers flatly. “How torturous.” She embraces Mireille. “I didn’t need you to forgive me, but I wanted you to, so…thank you.”

Mireille holds her tightly. “I guess…I mean, you had no reason to think I was into you. I did say when I came out that you weren’t my type.”

“And I said I wasn’t into girls, so maybe we’re both liars.”

“The truth is that…I only _realized_ because of my feelings for you.”

“Oh.” Aurore can feel warmth in her cheeks. “I didn’t realize until yesterday, but reflecting on the past I probably have for longer.”

“So, we could have been doing this for longer?” Mireille asks, resting her forehead against Aurore’s.

“I don’t know how much longer. I was pretty oblivious.”

“If I had confessed earlier…”

“I probably would have reached the conclusion earlier, because the only reason I had to think about it was because you were first.”

“Well. Maybe I shouldn’t have misled you when I said you weren’t my type.”

“Clearly,” Aurore answers, snorting. “In case you couldn’t tell, I was being sarcastic, and I don’t think either of us were ready back then to handle a romantic relationship.”

“Is that what we are?”

“I hope so.” Aurore steps back a little. “This is important, I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“We are,” Mireille answers. “That’s what I want from this too.”

“Good.” Aurore beans, and Mireille returns the smile.

* * *

Mireille posts the announcement via a thread on Twitter, and Paris explodes with the news. Mireille trends in Paris, and Aurore just quietly monitors things, staying with her to comfort her so that there’s no repeat of Rainbow Bright.

Mireille smiles as they read through waves of positivity, but there are…also some negative comments. Aurore takes pleasure in watching Mireille block those people.

There are also a few people that congratulate Mireille when the two of them go out for lunch, and Mireille gets a few texts from their friends.

It’s frankly more support than Aurore expected, but Mireille says that she was expecting more support than bigotry.

Aurore takes a moment to wonder how Mireille has so much faith in the world, when the world…well, perhaps Mireille hasn’t been as scorned.

Or maybe when Mireille puts faith into them, they put faith into her in return — and then there’s a _point_ to optimism. She loves the world, and the world loves her in return.

Aurore understands why Mireille does it. And, when she looks back…she’s put more up to chance than the person that tried out for that competition would have.

“I meant it when I said you changed me,” she says out loud.

“Aurore, I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past couple minutes, you kinda spaced out on me?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about…some stuff.” She scratches the back of her neck. “What’s up?”

“Are _you_ prepared to say anything, if they ask?”

“No, but…I mean, you can say that you _have_ a girlfriend that isn’t ready to divulge her identity, or something. I don’t know. You don’t have to completely lie if you aren’t comfortable with that.”

“I’m okay with it as long as you’re safe.”

“Okay.” Aurore takes a deep breath. She’s not ready to explain everything to the people around her who don’t already get it. “You can tell them I exist as like, a girlfriend that doesn’t want to come out to the entire public. That’s okay with me.”

“Then if they ask, that’s what I’ll tell them. People will speculate, though.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s okay if people speculate, because I have you, and I have my friends, and I have people that will back me up.”

“I know. I’m one of them.”

“You are,” Aurore answers.

* * *

Marc texts her saying she’s glad the two are together and is proud of Aurore for getting it together.

Aurore is happy with that. And honestly? There’s one person that she still needs to tell.

Or, well, two — but one of them couldn’t really respond.

The graveyard is empty, as it is frequently when there’s no funeral going on and it’s a Wednesday afternoon. The bouquet she carries feels heavier in her hands, seeing no one anywhere close beside all those under her feet.

She wanders the aisles, looking at all the graves. But it’s wandering with purpose, too. 

She takes the paths she knows, not cutting across the grass so her footsteps don’t trail over any coffins, buried deep under the ground.

“Hey, mom,” Aurore kneels next to the stone. “I want to tell you something. Not like…you can tell me if you’re accepting, or whatever. The point is that I’m doing this so it’s easier to talk to Dad about this. I know you don’t know her, but…I have a girlfriend. Yeah, surprise, girlfriend. It doesn’t really…matter what I am, but I love Mireille, and that’s good enough where I don’t really need a label. I’m not sure if you and Dad ever talked about when I would get a boyfriend or, well, I guess I should say partner or significant other. I don’t know what you would think. I don’t know _you_ very well. It isn’t like you can respond, but I still wanted to tell you, because it’s important to me.” She takes a deep breath. “Mireille helps me be a better person, and that’s…well, it’s a part of why I love her. There’s a lot more to it, but she’s changed me. A lot. And I like the new me _better.”_

She gets up. “So, yeah. That’s…everything.” Aurore lays the bouquet so it stands up against the gravestone. “Bye, Mom. I hope that this…helps.”

She texts Mireille as she walks out, following the same path she took coming in. _You want to come over for dinner?_

Mireille responds with a thumbs up emoji.

Aurore texts her in return that she’ll say when dinner is after she gets home. She doesn’t elaborate on what she’s been doing.

* * *

“Hey, Dad,” she asks, “do you mind if Mireille comes over for dinner?”

It feels like forever since they’ve last had any conversations beyond the basic “what do you want for dinner from these choices” and “how was your day”, answered with just “good” perpetually.

“No, of course not. You can bring your friends over anytime, it feels like it’s been forever since I last met any of them.”

“I guess it has,” she answers. She struggles to remember that last time. “I just…thought it would be nice.”

“I think it would be. I’ve seen you two on TV, I’ve wanted to meet her for a while.”

Aurore doesn’t dare to wonder why. “Mind if I help with dinner?”

“That won’t be a problem,” he answers.

The two of them work at a stove, not very familiar (in fact, a little clumsy) but it’s good, even if they don’t really talk to each other in the process.

She makes sure to text Mireille and give her fifteen minutes to come over. It’s not a long walk, Aurore remembers from when she _ran_ over there after Mireille’s akumatization.

A knock on the apartment door. “I’ll get it,” Aurore says, “watch the pan.”

Her father nods, and she goes towards the door. “Hey, Mireille.” She can’t help but smile, not when she has Mireille right in front of her, outside of school and work for the first time since the weekend.

“How are you doing?” They hug, briefly, and then separate.

“I’m…actually doing fairly well.” She lowers her voice. “I want to tell Dad about us.”

“Oh?” Mireille asks.

“Yeah. I…I mean, I told Mom, or whatever’s left of her in the grave earlier. It was a rehearsal for now, and I want you to be beside me, but only if you’re okay with that.”

“Of course. I mean, I came out to the world, right? I can stand beside you as your girlfriend.”

The sound of a timer rings in the background. “That’s dinner. Come on.” Aurore drags Mireille towards their little kitchen/dining room, where her dad is plating up the dish they made.

She doesn’t even think about how she’s grasping Mireille’s wrist until it’s out of her hand and they’re sitting at the table. Aurore took out a stool earlier for Mireille to sit on, and now the three of them are digging into the dish that she and her father prepared.

“So, how are you two doing?” her father asks, clearly trying to start some sort of conversation after they’re most of the way done with dinner.

“Um. We’re dating?” Aurore says. “That’s why I invited her over, I wanted to say this together.”

He nods. “I understand. I mean, I’ve started to try and find someone else.”

Aurore blinks. “O...kay?”

“I’ve been, um, experimenting with men a little bit.”

She glances over at Mireille, who looks a little uncomfortable, so Aurore takes her hand under the table.

Her dad is….coming out to her? What?

“That’s...great! I don’t have a problem with that, I just wasn’t expecting it at all,” Aurore answers.

“And I hope you find someone, Mr. Beaureal,” Mireille says, squeezing Aurore’s hand.

That was…well, better than Aurore expected, but still weird. They even have desert, and Mireille eventually does leave for the night with leftovers and a hug from Aurore. After all, neither of them are exactly outfitted for a sleepover.

“I visited Mom today,” Aurore says to her father after Mireille leaves.

“You did?” he asks.

“I wanted a chance to rehearse before I told you. But it was hard when there was no response. There’s not much in the way of feedback from the dead.”

He nods.

“And, well, I told her a lot. And, well…I guess it helped, because I managed to say something to _you._ I wanted to. Especially…Mireille makes me think about the kinds of things I can do. She makes me dream big, she makes me better.”

“Yeah, you’re different, but you’re always going to be someone that I care a lot about.”

“Yeah. Me too.” It’s awkward, still, and she doubts that’ll change any time soon, but there’s at least a certain silent solidarity in knowing that they’re somewhat the same.

Aurore sighs. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Would you recommend talking to her?” he asks softly, and she turns to face him.

“It was nice. Even if she couldn’t answer me. I think you would find peace in it.”

He nods, and she turns and walks out of the room.

* * *

“So,” Aurore asks, sitting down next to Adrien at the desk, “did you work things out with Max?”

He nods. “We’re all good now, you can go back to sitting with Mireille now.”

“I care about you, too. You’re my _friend.”_ And she might not have admitted that a few months ago, but with their encounters since there’s really no other way to describe it. “I mean, Mireille and I do have a different kind of relationship, but it’s important to have friends too. The world doesn’t just fall away because you’re in a romantic relationship.”

Adrien looks a little sheepish at that. “I’m definitely guilty of tunnel vision sometimes, but then again I’m not the only one who does it.”

“I mean, Mireille and I are still a new thing, but I love her a lot and I know she loves me a lot — we don’t have to be together all the time, we spend a lot of time with each other as it is.”

“I don’t spend as much time with them as I should,” Adrien answers. “I want to, I would love to spend time with them more. But I’m busy, and so are they, and it can be hard to get together.”

“But all that matters is that you’re trying to make it work, right? That’s a sign of love, that’s a way of showing that you really _do_ care about them.” Aurore notices the usage of _them_ as a plural noun rather than the gender neutral that Marc prefers when he’s in a not-he or she mood. (She talked to him briefly before class.) So Adrien has multiple partners? Aurore doesn’t want to assume, and she also doesn’t want to dig too deeply into that.

“I guess. It just feels disappointing every time we have plans and then someone has to cancel because he or she is busy. And sometimes that person is me, too.”

“I don’t know, the relationship I’m in is still new.”

“I was…well, it’s complicated, but we’re still in the stage of figuring things out.”

Aurore nods. “It can be difficult sometimes. I thought when Mireille first confessed to me that she meant it platonically, because there was no qualifier on it. So I had to be the one to say something because otherwise it would never have gone anywhere because she took that as rejection.”

“That was a lot of ‘because,’” Adrien teases. “I mean, I was oblivious too. She was right there in front of me, and I never saw her.”

Aurore also notes the shift in pronouns. “I know how that feels.”

“So are you going back?” Adrien asks.

She looks over at her normal spot next to Mireille. “I mean, as long as you’re doing alright.”

“I think I am.” She acquiesces with a nod and goes back to her seat, though she’s not sure if he’s telling the whole truth.

* * *

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what a double date is,” Marc says. “I know you do.”

“I mean, yeah, I know what a double date is.” Aurore crosses her arms. “But…okay, what?”

“I mean, now that you and Mireille are _officially_ together, we can do things like that?” he asks. “Only if you’re willing. You don’t have to. Nathaniel is talking to Mireille.”

“Sure, why not,” Aurore answers. “What could go wrong?”

* * *

As it turns out, a lot can go wrong, especially when they end up at the same location as Adrien and his partners. She suspects that if they had picked a different location there wouldn’t be an akuma that crashed into their place, claiming to be a spurned fangirl.

Well. The four of them hightailed it out of there.

And, on top of that, after the attack was over, it started raining. Running in the rain might be more fun if Aurore were wearing sturidier shoes, but flats are not built for this sort of activity.

They end up taking shelter at Marc’s place, because it’s the closest. The four of them are all drenched, and even though towards the end Aurore had to go barefoot because she couldn’t keep up with the water squelching in her shoes, she still can admit that she had a lot of fun with her friends.

“I’m glad we got out of the storm,” Nathaniel says. “I know I was using my bag as a shield, but I still hate when my sketchbook gets wet.”

“Oh, I get that,” Marc comments. “If my notebook gets wet I lose a lot.”

Aurore shrugs. “The one day I forget my umbrella. That came out of nowhere.”

“I knew it was going to rain. Or were you just on autopilot?” Mireille asks, grinning. “Besides, that parasol does _nothing_ in a real storm.”

“I would never purchase an umbrella that serves no purpose,” Aurore says. “The parasol is for when rain isn’t coming. I bring a _fully waterproof_ umbrella when I know precipitation is coming.”

“...that explains a lot, actually,” Marc comments. “Including why you don’t always have the same one.”

“I swear, the _one_ day I don’t bring anything with me…” She shakes her head.

“Yeah, we know,” Mireille says. “This is unusual for you, and all that…”

Aurore doesn’t mind. Frankly, she needed to pay more attention sometimes, and this was a wake-up call.

And even though she’s still soaking wet, she still feels great.

* * *

Being together…well, it’s everything Aurore had imagined when she first processed her love for Mireille. And so much more, too.

She looks back on the girl she was when she was akumatized into Stormy Weather. Sure, she regrets the destruction, but she can’t regret what happened, with them _both_ becoming the TV meteorologists, because then they wouldn’t develop what they have now. Aurore probably would have stayed in the same old mindset without Mireille’s efforts to bring the two of them closer, the same mindset that everyone her age was competition and the only people she could trust were people outside of her competition.

Aurore looks back on that girl and pities her, because Aurore knows that her life now is so much better than it was back then. It’s not perfect, and it never will be, but as long as she has Mireille and her friends by her side, that doesn’t matter. Because that’s as close as she’s getting to perfection — and she doesn’t need perfection anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been one heck of a journey. Thank you.


End file.
